Page 39 of The Don's Soulmate

Panic wells up inside me as he ignores my protest and pulls me towards the car, making it difficult to breathe. My instincts are screaming at me to be afraid, that I'm in danger, but there's another part of me that feels an inexplicable pull towards him. But this can’t be right.

"Please, let go of me," I whisper, my voice shaky with fear and uncertainty. “Ugo…” I look back, to where the journalists are still hounding him. Soon enough, Ugo would rid himself of them.

Ugo’s eyes land on me, and I freeze with fear. When he finds himself alone with me, what would come of it? To imagine that tonight, he pulled me by my hair, choked me with his hands, in front of a hundred people…

What would happen when there are no people? Too afraid to think of that consequence and knowing I’m one step closer to anyway getting that art collection to safety, I decide to just fuck it. As I stumble along beside him, my mind reels from the shock and disbelief of the events that unfolded at the art gallery. What would have happened if Ettore hadn’t stepped in? And how does Ettore always seem to be there at the right time and right place? He may be a dangerous man, but he saved me from a potentially worse situation with Ugo.

He can’t believe I’m willingly going with Ettore. "I can’t go with you,” I say again, but Ettore isn’t listening.

As I stumble along beside him, my mind reels from the shock and disbelief of the events that unfolded at the art gallery. How could someone I thought was trying to change for the better turn so violent so quickly

Ettore’s like a knight in shining armor. And so, I find myself in his car. He revs the engine, and off we go.

"Where are you taking me?" I stutter, glancing nervously at Ettore. Our gazes meet for a moment, and in his eyes, I glimpse a possessiveness that makes me uneasy.

“Ettore?” I ask again.

“Damn it,” he slams the wheel with his fist, driving faster. “I don’t fucking know. Somewhere safe.”

Oh great. So, none of us have a plan. I try to still my trembling hands and wonder if "safe" could ever include being in the company of a man like Ettore.

Probably not.

We speed through the streets of Rome, dark and chaotic at this late hour. The city blurs outside my window as a million questions race through my mind. But in the tense silence, I don't dare ask them. I can only sit trembling, waiting to see what comes next in this unexpected turn of events.

The farther we get from the city center, the more dread pools in my stomach. I made the impulsive move to come along with Ettore, but as the drive stretches on, I’ve had enough time to think of every punishment that could be doled out my way. My father and brother could have me locked up until my wedding night. I could be forced to marry Ugo tomorrow itself. Ugo might call the whole thing off, and burn all the art, and that could be the downfall of my family. Beyond that, it could erase some of the most important hallmarks of European civilization, immense talent forever burned away from the world. Should the wedding still happen, I’ve already imagined Ugo devising a million different ways to torture me.

Okay. This was a bad idea.It’s not too late. I can still go back, tell father and Ugo that I got scared of the journalists. After all, father always taught me to keep away from the media.They could forgive me for following an instruction that has been grilled into me since childhood.

Yes. I must go back. The blowback will be less if I return now, rather than prolong my “attempted escape”.

I glance at Ettore nervously, noticing the clenched set of his jaw and the white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. He seems just as tense as I am, if for different reasons.

Finally, I can stay silent no longer. "Ettore, please slow down. I’ve changed my mind. Please get me a cab and let me go home."

His gaze slides to me, cold and calculating. "I can't do that. Not while knowing how your family will still force you to marry that vile man. You’ll face their wrath tonight. It's too dangerous."

"I'll deal with Ugo and Papa," I insist. "Just take me home.”

“No,” he bellows.

“You have no right to keep me like this against my will!" I scream now, angry at how he’s not taking my request seriously. Ettore's hand darts out to grab my arm in a bruising grip. I gasp at the pain, shrinking into my seat. “Is that what this is," he growls. "I won't have you hurt. If that means keeping you under lock and key, so be it. It’s clear to me your family doesn’t give a damn about what happens to you.”

I wince at his words, finding them unfair. How dare he think he has the right to pass judgement on my family? For years, my family was all I had. My father and brother have sheltered me, protected me and indulged my whims and fancies. On every birthday, I’ve received beautiful presents. When sick, I’ve been given the best medical care. When bored, they’ve gone out of their way to provide entertainment. They allowed me to follow my dreams, turn passion into education with my art.

And yet, a small part of me can't deny the truth in his words. Since returning from Paris, a random thought has been nagging at me over and over again. What if my family's intentions have never truly been about my well-being, only their own interests and reputation? Is gifts and entertainment a true hallmark of love? I can’t say anymore.

Families with far less love a lot harder, and the things bestowed upon me were never a requirement for proving that love.

My mind races, imagining the consequences of my actions tonight. What will my family say when they find out about Ugo's behavior? They’d blame me, probably. And how will they react when they learn that Ettore has taken it upon himself to protect me? But even if I know that truth, it changes nothing. Without my father and brother, I am nothing, tethered to aimlessness. What life can I start as just Carlotta when I own nothing? When my entire support system, save a friend or two, are shadowed by my family?

Suddenly, I feel exhausted. My arms hang down on my sides, and I sink into the chair, utterly drained.

"Please, Ettore, you don't need to be involved in this," I whisper, knowing this is only just a daydream. He’s Ettore Mancini and I, Carlotta D’Amici. He and I will only ever have stolen moments. I belong to the D’Amicis to do what I must for our family name. “Take me home. You have no plan. We can’t just drive around in circles forever.”

“Watch me try,” he growls, pressing down on the accelerator. The car roars forward and I’m thrown further back into my seat. I gasp, and clutch at my seatbelt.

"Can't you just let me go?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the roar of the engine. "I'll figure something out, I promise. You don't need to risk yourself for me."

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